


What He Needs, What She Wants

by SherLokid92



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Slight AU (?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherLokid92/pseuds/SherLokid92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seemingly powerful sorcerer drops into her lap, Daenerys Targaryen thinks she's found the final key to taking back the Iron Throne. When he wakes up in a strange new world, Loki's only goal is to try and find his way back to Asgard. But with no other choice than to work together, the two may find more than they wanted or needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I  
Daenerys found herself dashing through the camp, practically racing towards the healer’s tent. Her poor handmaiden, Missandei, struggled to keep up with her, while Drogon struggled to keep his perch on the Khalessi’s shoulders. “Milady, please. You’re walking too fast.” Daenerys didn’t hear Missandei’s request, lost in thought about her destination. While on his patrol, Grey Worm had apparently discovered a strange and wounded creature. The being had been brought back to her camp, but not before it struck both Grey Worm and Ser Jorah in its panic with mysterious wounds. Ser Barristan, who currently brought up the rear of the rushed party, had likened the wounds to something known as frostbite.  
Now while she understood the recently released knight’s concerns of this creature being a White Walker, Daenerys was determined to meet their new guest for herself. White Walkers were native to the coldest reaches of Westeros, or at least so the tales said. It would be highly unlikely to find one such frozen monster out in the desert of Essos. The heat, while not entirely unbearable with appropriate garb and tents, would surely kill a White Walker. Thus, the young royal entertained the possibility that a great sorcerer had fallen into her lap. And if that was indeed the case, this new creature could be a boon to her quest to reclaim Westeros’ throne. But first thing’s first, they had to nurse it to enough health to see if it was friend or foe.  
“Khalessi,” Jorah greeted as she and her small group finally found the healer’s tent where the mysterious creature was being kept. One the side of his face appeared to be a handprint shaped burn. Except that the burn and the skin around it was a palette of blues tinged with purple. Not shades one typically associates with such wounds. “You should not go in there. He is too dangerous and unpredictable.”  
“‘He?’”  
“This monster takes the form of a man, my lady,” Grey Worm answered bluntly, a similar burn on his neck. “It is clear, however, that this is no man.”  
“We know far too little about this creature for you to go near it alone.” Daenerys had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. She would have thought Jorah would know better by now. “You see the burns he’s inflicted on us, Khalessi.”  
“Well, if it or he, since you can’t decide what to call our guest, causes burns then I should be safe, should I not? Fire cannot kill a dragon.”  
“He did not burn use with fire, Daenerys. This burn was caused by ice.”  
“And what happens to ice when it meets fire, Ser Jorah?” The banished knight fell silent. Daenerys smirked. “Fire melts ice. And if by some strange power it cannot, I will not be alone.” She turned to the black-red dragon perched on her shoulder, affectionately petting its muzzle. “I have Drogon and I have no doubt you will be keeping watch here. I will be more than sufficiently protected.” Unfortunately for the three soldiers, none of them could argue against her point. The Mother of Dragons didn’t even attempt to repress the smug grin that crept onto her face. “Let me pass.” Ser Jorah exchanged a one sided nervous glance with Grey Worm. “Now.” The warriors reluctantly parted to allow the young queen to pass.  
Daenerys was not quite sure what to expect when she peeled back the fabric door, but she certainly did not expect to find this creature looking so… human. The only thing that truly distinguished the armored man from her was the deep blue color of his skin and the strange markings mapping his body. Drogon shivered as the entered the tent, reacting to the sudden drop in temperature she was noting. Compared to the arid air outside, the inside of the tent was like an icy tundra. She had a feeling this mysterious man had caused it. Somehow they would have to find a way to keep him cool if he stayed with them. Tentatively, she sat down beside the strange man, careful to avoid the gaping wound on his side. A frown crossed her face at that.  
“Why hasn’t his wound been tended to?” She knew Ser Jorah was still standing outside the tent. He would very rarely leave her side.  
“The healers are afraid of him, Khalessi. The Dothraki believe he is some kind of demon and will not go near him. He may a lost cause, milady.”  
“Not yet. But he will be if this armor is not removed and this wound is not healed. Do we have any cooler clothes that would fit him?” Her fingertips gently brushed sweat soaked ebony fringes from his forehead, careful to not actually touch his icy skin. She did not feel enough breath on her wrist to fear him waking but she would rather not risk being wrong either.  
“My queen,” Ser Barristan offered. “It may be better to let this creature to die in comfort than to risk it killing us all.”  
“He might not be a threat at all, Ser Barristan. He may simply be lost.”  
“‘Lost,’ Khalessi?”  
“His armor is not of any make I recognize. Certainly not of Essos. Ser Jorah?”  
“Yes, Khalessi?”  
“Do you recognize this armor? Is it of Westeros?”  
“No Westeros army I know, milady. This is not aiding your argument to save his life.”  
“Well, the only argument that matters is mine. I do not intend to bring him to full strength until I know if he will be an ally. If he turns out to be an enemy, then he should be unable to do us great harm. Either way, I am not allowing him to die on my watch.” She stood in order to free the man from any heat she might have radiated. “Tell the healer that if they continue to refuse this man aid they can stay behind and we will find a new healer. That will be generous if this stranger dies. And find him some cooler clothes please.”  
****DRACARYS****  
A gentle caress of heat coaxed Loki back into consciousness. While his exhausted body still wanted to flinch away, the warmth certainly wasn’t nearly as unbearable as the heat of the scorching desert that drifted into his hazy memory. The weary god nuzzled into the touch despite the heat, vaguely reminded of a mother’s touch. “Mmm… what…”  
“Easy… don’t try to sit up,” a soft voice said, gently pressing him into the bed. “I do not know what happened, but my healer says you are lucky to be alive.” The god muttered softly as he tried to remember what had led to his current heat exhaustion. But between the pulsing heat under his skin and the crawling throb in his side, Loki’s memory wasn’t being very cooperative. All that was pushing through the haze was a portal…  
“Where…” He coughed as his dry throat made itself known and protested speaking. He blinked slowly; opening his eyes as whomever the kind voice belonged to called for water for him. A pair of shining blue eyes smiled at him, dulling his instinctive mistrust.  
“My tent in Essos,” the white-blonde woman explained as she was handed a leather water skein. “Unfortunately, still in the middle of the desert. Here…” She gently lifted his head, bringing the water skein to his lips. If this mysterious woman wasn’t holding and thus controlling it, Loki would not have taken long to drain the skein. “We did what we could to make you more comfortable but your armor was quite complicated.”  
“Impractical, you mean, Khalessi,” an unseen voice corrected. Loki’s eyes shot open at the new voice, the pain and exhaustion temporarily giving way to that instinctive alertness that came from centuries on the battlefield. He began to shoot upright, but the wound in his side slowed him down. Still, he sat up, clutching his bleeding side and eyes darting between the three men at the tent opening and the small wyvern-like creatures standing guard.  
“Ser Jorah!” The woman who had been tending to Loki chastised, reaching out to soothe the now agitated god. Loki snatched her wrist before she could touch him and froze in shock.  
For once, he wasn’t sure what stunned him more: the fact that his hand was Jotun sapphire or that she was not burning. Frost giant skin was typically so cold, a mere touch was enough to give anyone severe frost bite. The silver blonde woman’s only indication of his grip was her kind blue eyes turning icy and hard. “We do not wish to harm you further,” she began, a rough edge to her voice. “But I will not allow you to take advantage of goodwill either. Now release my arm.” Loki still had no idea who this “Khalessi” was, but she certainly spoke with the authority of a queen.  
Reluctantly, he released her wrist, but unknowingly let his fingers trail along the soft skin there. A bright red handprint marred her otherwise pale skin. So she was affected by his Jotun touch, just not as quickly as others were. He would have to remember that. Loki allowed “Khalessi” to push him back down onto the cot, but made a note of all available exits should he need them. “You have my word,” Khalessi began again. “No one under my rule will harm you.”  
“Why…” Loki hissed as the action of lying back down sent a fresh throb through his body. “Why should… I trust you…” He asked, gasping slightly. He tried to tell himself that his voice wasn’t so hoarse. Khalessi smirked and raised a dark brow.  
“Simple. You have no choice if you wish to live. The desert stretches on for miles with no water source. And even if you make it through the heat, you will be at the mercy of other Dothraki hordes… And they show no one mercy,” she responded calmly. “So it is in your best interest to trust me.” Loki frowned. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t argue with her logic. He was apparently in a world he had absolutely no knowledge of. Making enemies was not a wise decision.  
“Fine…” Loki agreed reluctantly. Instantly, the icy queen melted back into the kind young woman from before. Loki made a mental note to stay on her good side. “Where am I?” He asked again as she gave what sounded like orders to the men standing at the entrance of the tent in another language.  
“In the country of Essos, just outside the Dothraki Sea,” she answered.  
“And where on Midgard is that supposed to be?” Khalessi and the tiny group exchanged confused looks. “This is Midgard – ow – is it not?”  
“I would tell you if I knew what that word meant.” She pushed on his chest when he tried to sit up again. “Or who you are for that matter.” The god rolled his eyes.  
“I don’t always keep to your myths of my appearance, but surely you can recognize a god, useless mortals…” he muttered the part under his breath. He was met with looks of confusion from all save a little green dragon that seemed to find him intriguing. The youngest man said something in a language the All-speak could not translate, handing Khalessi a small tray of food. “What did he say?”  
“He said you seem more like a demon to him than a god,” she answered. Loki frowned, looking at his currently blue hand.  
“He may not be too far from correct…” With much more effort than he cared to admit, he was able to recast the spell that maintained his Aesir form. He smirked when Khalessi looked alight with curiosity and her guards all gasped in fear. “Much better.”  
“You’re a shapeshifter?” She asked. She looked far more like a young girl than the icy monarch she had displayed earlier.  
“Khalessi, I still say you should have left him,” the eldest soldier commented. Loki shot him a vicious glare since it was the only weapon he had right now. “Was it not sorcery that took the Khal from you?” Now she shot him a glare that rivaled the Mischief God’s.  
“I thank you for your council, Ser Barristan, but I think I can handle this just fine. You and Ser Jorah are excused,” she ordered. The two in question bowed and – with obvious disapproval – left their post. He had only known her a few moments but Loki was vaguely starting to like this Khalessi woman. She turned her attention back to him with a smile. “I hope you are not too offended. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan mean well, if they overstep their place a bit.” Loki smirked a little when her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “If you had not changed before my eyes I don’t believe I would have believed you either.”  
“Mortals. You believe nothing unless you actually see it.”  
“Well to be fair, you look like no god I’ve heard of,” she explained. “And your armor… it’s like no armor I’ve ever seen.”  
“It’s Asgardian, of course,” he explained, somewhat melting into his cot. His panicked second wind was fading fast.  
“I’m sorry…” she began. “But ‘Asgardian’?”  
“From Asgard? The realm I come from.” His eyes grew too heavy so he let them drift back closed as he continued, “The Realm Eternal…”  
“Well, I do not know what that is, but I’m sure you can tell me after you’ve regained a bit more strength,” Khalessi suggested, scooping up the green dragon that was sniffing at him. “I had hoped to get some food into you while you were awake but…” Loki just smiled weakly as she spoke, his wound mixed with her soothing voice was luring him deeper into sleep. He had to admit… were she not mortal and he not in such pain… he would find her quite beautiful…


	2. II

II  
“Can I help you, Little One?” Loki asked the little green dragon sniffing at his side. The poor creature jumped away with a screech. Loki suspected he had hoped the Mischief God was food. “Relax. I have no intention of harming you.” The dragon snorted before sniffing at his offered hand. “I don’t bite, little one. Well, not unless you bite me first.” Luckily, the tiny dragon chose to nuzzle into his hand rather than take a piece of his finger. Loki chuckled, carefully shifting to rest on his good side. He hissed a little as his side protested the movement. “You know you’re quite lucky that it was I who came through that portal and not my brother, little one.”   
“And why is that?” The dragon made an excited screech and quickly scurried to Khalessi who was standing in the doorway. “Rhaegol…” She said something in another language, seemingly scolding the creature. Loki wondered why his All-tongue did not translate the language.   
“It can understand you?” Loki asked with a slight gasp, sitting up.   
“Yes, he can,” she corrected. She gave the dragon, apparently named “Rhaegol,” an affectionate nuzzle as it perched on her shoulder. “Is it not custom in Asgard for a mother to teach her children her native tongue?”   
“A dragon is you child?” If Loki hadn’t been in a world that did not know the ridiculous myths surrounding him and his family, he would never ask such a question. Now he had heard several among the few who had visited or passed his tent refer to the young woman as “the mother of dragons” but he never put that much thought into the reasoning behind the name.   
“They do not call me the Mother of Dragons for nothing,” she explained with a proud smirk. He carefully scooted aside on the cot to make room as she sat down. “And why would Rhaegol fear your brother?”   
“Well… the oaf may be fond of slaying dragons.” As expected, Khalessi clutched the tiny dragon tighter to her chest at that. “You have nothing to fear. I’m fairly certain I was the only one dropped here.”   
“He would not be allowed to harm my dragons if he was in Essos. He would die first.” The god smirked as she nuzzled Rhaegol, who seemed to have fallen asleep. Loki cautiously reached out to pet him, having received the distinct impression this girl was quite protective of her dragons.   
“You seem quite sure of yourself, Lady Khalesssi,” Loki commented as Rhaegol nuzzled into his hand, a draconian purr emitting from between his teeth.  
“Daenerys,” Khalessi giggled.  
“I’m sorry?”   
“Khalessi is merely one of my titles, Loki. My name is Daenerys. Of the house Targaryen.” The god smirked, something that seemed to be happening quite a bit despite his current circumstances, as her youth made itself prevalent again. Strange how thousands of years difference made this young woman who was actually close to his age (by Asgardian standards) seem so much younger than he. “And it is never wise to anger a mother or harm her children.”  
“Having been on the receiving end of my mother’s ire, I can attest to that.” Daenerys chuckled at that.   
“You are feeling better I take it?” When he looked confused, she explained, “Your wound. You are sitting up and seem to be in good spirits.”   
“Perhaps tis a beautiful mother that lifts my spirits.” Daenerys’ pale cheeks turned rosy at that. “And gods tend to heal faster than mortals,” he explained, carefully rubbing his still protesting side. “That being said, it’s not comfortable no matter what I do. And my magic appears to be somewhat limited…”   
“Limited? How can you limit magic?”   
“Annoyingly easily actually.” He slowly laid back down, his apparently second wind beginning to fade away. Daenerys scooted farther up the cot, gently running surprisingly cool fingers across his forehead.  
“Could this heat be affecting your power? You’re starting to get quite warm again.” Loki attempted a smirk.  
“I suppose that is a possibility. I don’t typically spend time in desserts,” he answered, wiping at the sweat on his forehead. “What have you done with my armor by the way?”   
“Do not worry. It is more than safe although what will be done with it is being debated.” Loki frowned at that.  
“It is not yours to do anything with.”   
“We weren’t certain you would survive. As it is that armor would do little more than cook you. And some of the metal could be traded for valuable resources. Resources you would also benefit greatly from.” Sound logic, the god could definitely agree to that. However, his pride had a tendency to trump logic.  
“Still. That armor belongs to me. I get to decide what to do with it.”   
“You are in no position to try and order me, Loki,” Daenerys chided, that icy demeanor taking control again. “I have no intention of selling your property. I refuse to be that kind of queen.” That certainly explained a lot. “But it will serve you no use here. It is partially why I came to check on you.” She nodded at who Loki assumed was her handmaiden, whom the god somehow hadn’t noticed come in. The trembling woman was holding a bundle of clothes in her arms.   
“We managed to scrape some cooler clothes for you as well as what parts of your armor weren’t damaged or stained from your wound,” Daenerys explained. “If necessary, I’m certain either Ser Jorah or Ser Barristan would be willing to aide you should you require it.” He shook his head as he carefully stood, hissing a little.   
“That won’t be necessary,” he grunted in fake assurance. He shot her a smile, hoping to hide that his wound wasn’t as healed as he tried to imply. “I happen to be quite adept at dressing myself.”   
“I’m quite certain you can. Yet you seem worse off than you are willing to admit.” Loki’s smile became genuine as he retrieved the bundle of clothes. The handmaiden just happened to look up and meet the god’s gaze, so Loki gave her a wink. She just squeaked and looked back down. “Try not to frighten my friend too much, Mischief,” Daenerys chided, but Loki could hear the smirk in her voice. He turned to her, cocking up one eyebrow.  
“Your servant is also your friend? Strange way of showing affection.”   
“I am much better off with Milady than I have been for some time, Lord Loki,” the handmaiden assured. He shot her a surprised look.   
“I was starting to wonder if you could speak.” She didn’t respond, casting her eyes down. So this handmaiden was either extremely respectful or terrified of him. Most likely either the latter, which was probably wise, or both. Loki had no desire to be as courteous as he was now once he regained his full strength. “Now if you ladies don’t mind, I do not require an audience.” Daenerys smirked.  
“Modesty, milord? You’ve been shirtless this entire conversation,” she pointed out.   
“Does it really count when I’m basically wearing a bandage corset?” he countered, gesturing to the wrappings circling his waist. “I’m not one to shy away from beautiful women but I’m certain you would rather not watch a strange man undress, little Khalessi.”  
“Hmm… Perhaps you are right. Let’s go, Missandei.” Loki watched the pair leave, the handmaiden now addressed as Missandei trailing respectfully close behind Daenerys. He smiled. The young monarch was proving to be quite interesting.  
Loki was well aware he was at a disadvantage. So far all he knew about the world Odin had dropped him into was scorching heat, so dry that it made the fires of Niflehiem feel like paradise. That combined with the wound from that battle which sent him here and he was not enjoying Essos. And he certainly did not enjoy being at Daenerys’ mercy. Beautiful as she may be, that gave him no assurance she was trustworthy.   
Still… the god of mischief could certainly find some use for the young woman who would be queen…

***Dracarys***

Daenerys found herself pacing outside the healer’s tent as Loki dressed, creating a path in the dirt between Missandei and Grey Worm. Every now and then, she would peek through the curtains and catch a glimpse of strong thigh and pale skin as the newcomer dressed. She smirked every time that happened. The way he had positioned himself in front of the entrance almost seemed deliberate as if he wanted her to watch him. Despite not knowing him that well yet, the young queen was more than happy to oblige. “So what do you think of him,” she asked absentmindedly. Missandei and Grey Worm exchanged confused looks.   
“Are you speaking to us, Your Grace?” Missandei answered. Daenerys turned to her friend and handmaiden, gently scratching at Rhaegol’s chin. The young dragon purred contently at her touch.  
“Yes. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan are beginning to become repetitive. I want to know what you two think of our new guest.” Missandei looked at Grey Worm, unsure of what to say. The Unsullied’s face, as always, did not change, even to indicate he was contemplating an answer.  
“This demon is no doubt dangerous. I do not trust him alone with you, my queen.” Dany raised an eyebrow at that.   
“You think I cannot defend myself from him?”  
“Not from any sorcery he may possess. You do not have magic in your army, my queen.”   
“But…” Missandei began. “It would also be wise to recruit a sorcerer to your cause, assuming he can be swayed.” Daenerys nodded some. She had expected such answers but appreciated Missandei’s attempt to reassure her pretty much decided choice to keep Loki alive. “May I speak freely, Your Grace?”   
“I would not ask your opinion then punish you for what you say,” Daenerys assured. Missandei just nodded respectfully before speaking.   
“He makes me uncomfortable but you cannot seem to stop smiling around him, milady.” That caught Daenerys off guard. “I do not mean to offend.”   
“You don’t. Confuse perhaps.” She found it hard to believe the handsome newcomer affected her so. Missandei bowed her head with a demure nod.  
“Just an observation, milday. It may be nothing.” Daenerys nodded a little, contemplating this new information. Ser Jorah had implied something similar when advising her.  
“Do not allow a handsome face to cloud your judgment, Khalessi,” he had said. “Magic is what ultimately killed Khal Drogo and I will not see it take you as well.” The young queen had actually become quite offended at the statement and began to ignore the rest of his counsel. She had no intention of allowing herself to be tricked by magic and sorcery again. Should he agree to join her cause, he would not so much as pull a rabbit out of a helmet without her order.   
“And what would you two do if I said I was going against all council and asking him to join us?” Daenerys asked.  
“I follow my queen whatever she decides,” Grey Worm assured. “And I will defend her no matter what.” Dany grinned.  
“And I thank you for your loyalty, as always.”   
“I agree with Grey Worm, Your Grace. As it is, I believe Rhaegol had decided for us,” Missandei added, nodding at Daenerys’ arm which was unexpectedly void of a dragon.  
“What in the-Rhaegol!” She looked around and managed to spot a green tail ducking into the healer’s tent.  
“I’ve never seen your dragons take such an interest in new people.”   
“Nor have I. Come back her, Rhaegol.” She followed him into the tent, trying to be sneaky. If she could, she would rather grab Rhaegol and quickly get out before Loki could notice the pair were ever there. That was rather foolish to hope for.  
Rhaegol proved to be surprisingly more slippery than his bigger brother, Drogon. The dragon swiftly dodged his mother’s grasp and made short work of shimmying his way up Loki’s back. Daenerys stopped short when she noticed the stranger’s torso conspicuously bare of bandages. More shocking, however, was the progress of his wound. The once angry red gash down his ribcage was now more an angry scar encircling a less intimidating scratch. Standing out so vividly against his otherwise pale skin, it had it’s own strange beauty to it.  
“Ow! Ow!” Loki exclaimed as Rhaegol climbed up his back. He shot the small dragon a glare. “What good is having wings if you’d rather scratch up my back?” Rhaegol just watched him, tilting his head a little. “Does your mother even know you’re here?” Loki turned, smirking when he noticed the befuddled young queen watching him. “Ah. No wonder you ran off, little one. Your mother seems to be distracted.”   
The supposed god turned to face Daenerys and she indulged something inside her stirred by him and his presence. He most certainly was no Drogo but that did not harm him. Whereas Drogo was all towering muscle, Loki was pale and lean. He reminded her of the exotic cats some of the traders back in Pentos kept. Lithe, but with a careful tread that seemed enough to assure you of his power. He smirked at her as he approached. “See something you like, my lady?” There was something in the tone of his voice that told her that he did not see her as equal despite using a respectful title. Daenerys straightened herself, reminding herself that she was, in fact, the Dragon and rightful queen to the Iron Throne. He was a stranger claiming to god.  
“You seem to be doing much better,” she observed, gently taking Rhaegol from Loki’s shoulder. He chuckled.  
“As I said before, Khalessi, I am a god. I heal much faster than most,” he explained, gesturing towards the scar on his ribs. “Still a literal pain in my side though.”   
“Considering how large and deep your wound was, you’d be lucky to not bear a permanent reminder of it.” She tried to seem indifferent, dabbing absentminded affection onto Rhaegol. However, he violet eyes kept flitting to his chest as they spoke. She couldn’t discern if she was going mad or if she could actually see scars fading in and out on his pale chest.  
“Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.” He turned back to the small bundle of clothes she had brought him earlier. “Now, Khalessi. Is there something you actually need or were you just too irresistibly drawn to watching me change?”   
“That is an incredibly insolent thing to say,” Daenerys stuttered out. For someone who couldn’t walk a few days ago, he was in well enough spirits to have a sharp tongue. He grinned over his shoulder at her.  
“I’ve been told I’m incredibly insolent by nature. Part of being the God of Mischief, I suppose.”   
“You have yet to prove you are a god,” she noted. That wasn’t necessarily true. Unlike her comrades who saw him as a demon, Daenerys found herself willing to believe he was in fact a god. But she was not about to stroke his apparent ego. He scoffed.  
“Mortals. You see a potentially fatal wound heal within a few days and you still won’t believe me.”   
“I am impervious to fire. You do not see me claiming to be a goddess.”   
“Just a dragon,” he countered, with a proud smirk. “Yes, I’ve heard you mutter that when you think no one was listening. Forgive me for bursting your bubble, Khalessi. But unless you are hiding scales and a pair of wings under that bodice… you are only a mother of dragons.” Daenerys gawked. She was used to being disrespected by men in power. She was simply “a foolish girl with no knowledge of the world.” It was an assumption she often used to her advantage. But it wasn’t simply Loki’s blatant disregard for her position. There was something disarming that he knew about her private ritual. To add insult to injury, the bastard dared to smirk at her obvious shock. She tried to compose herself but still frowned.   
“The dragon has always been a symbol of house Targaryen,” she explained, feeling her cheeks grow hot. “We may not have the scales or wings or breathe fire, but I do not need those to be a dragon.” She shot her iciest glare before turning to leave the tent. “And you would do well not to anger the dragon offering you sanctuary from the scorching desert…”


End file.
